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<title>Heartstalker by SHIBUIKING (Heeshura)</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27343843">Heartstalker</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heeshura/pseuds/SHIBUIKING'>SHIBUIKING (Heeshura)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>World of Warcraft</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:49:37</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,306</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27343843</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heeshura/pseuds/SHIBUIKING</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of my hunter, Sothe Heartstalker, a Farstrider deployed to Tranquillien.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Heartstalker</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>if you want to see what he looks like, i drew him <a href="https://shibuiking.tumblr.com/post/633572827967242240/">here</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Life in the Ghostlands is scarce. Quite literally, one will realise, upon crossing the threshold between Eversong and the blighted lands; seeing the way the lush grass withers with each step you take, the unnatural gleam in the beasts’ eyes beyond, the spattered gathering of Forsaken darkening the doorstep of Tranquillien. Arcanist Vandril sees it all from his post at the entrance of the once gleaming town. The Forsaken are working in tandem with the few Farstriders they could spare to drive back the scourge, but their presence isn’t exactly comforting for any of them. They are duty bound to reclaim their forest but the shadow of death ever looms over them.<br/>The latest Farstrider detachment arrived a week ago. He’d seen them all lined up, presenting themselves to a harried looking Dame Auriferous. Most of them looked fresh, young. Clearly volunteers who wanted to direct their energy towards the noble cause. Vandril can’t help but feel thankful and bitter at the same time, for he knows that zeal will be burnt out fast.<br/>One of the young rangers caught his eye. The elf’s black hair was cut ragged, in a manner most unbefitting of their kind, and his tanned face was littered with scars. A gorgeous Springpaw Lynx sat at his feet. The elf’s piercing fel tinged eyes met his own for a moment, and in them Vandril saw something he couldn’t quite parse; there was none of the fire of the other recruits. </p>
<p>In the following days he began to understand what he’d seen. The young elf had soon disappeared in the shadows despite their guard detail orders. The other rangers had little to say about it aside from idle gossip between skirmishes with spiders.</p>
<p>“Do you think he deserted?”</p>
<p>“Who knows. I almost hope so, doesn’t he creep you out?”</p>
<p>“He fights like a man possessed, we need someone like that here.”</p>
<p>“I feel sorry for his cat.”</p>
<p>Yet the amount of scourge and blighted creatures filtering down to Tranquillien had obviously lessened. <br/>The next time Vandril had seen the elf was in the dead of night, or what passed as such in the eternal gloom of the Ghostlands. A shadowy figure flanked by a dark beast skirting along the outside of the town. Noone would have noticed him if it weren’t for Vandril’s insomnia leading him to the same outskirts in a sorrowful bid to try and wear himself out walking. The figure stopped and stared. His faintly glowing eyes meet Vandril’s own as the arcanist slows his pace and inches closer, as if trying not to scare an animal. His curiosity wouldn’t abate until he knew.<br/>His eyes adjust to the darkness a little better and he can finally see the figure fully. He looks nothing like he did on the day he’d arrived. The elf’s hair was somehow even more wild, matted with scourge blood and looking as if he’d taken a knife to it and hacked randomly to his peculiar liking. His Farstrider armour was long gone, made apparent by the furs at his neck and dirt almost obscuring his bare chest and arms, covered in more scars than his face. Some of them looked pink and fresh. <br/>Vandril opens his mouth to greet the elf but thinks better of it. It feels like if he spoke, this wild creature would retreat back into the woods like a timid elk. But the raw scars covered in dirt quickly made his worry overpower his curiosity. <br/>He reaches out, slowly. The elf looks at his hand and doesn’t move.</p>
<p>“Your wounds...” Vandril keeps his voice low, no more than a whisper. When no reply is forthcoming he inches forward again, closer and closer until the other elf allows him into his personal space. The look in his eyes has changed from something wild and terrifying into something more curious, almost hungering.</p>
<p>“I’ll live.” The voice that comes out is scratchy and deep. As if he hasn’t used it in a very long time. </p>
<p>“Will you at least let me clean them?”<br/>He’s met with silence once more and decides to take a different approach.<br/>“What’s your name?”</p>
<p>“Sothe.”</p>
<p>“You’re responsible for taking care of scourge before they reach the town, aren’t you?”</p>
<p>“...I suppose.”</p>
<p>Vandril makes note of the pause. “Why did you come here?”</p>
<p>“Felt like it.”</p>
<p>This isn’t getting him anywhere either. He tries another angle.<br/>“Is your lynx okay?”</p>
<p>Sothe glances down at his companion which gives Vandril a better view of his ears. It makes him wince. There are gouges down the sides, as if someone had taken little noches out of them bit by bit. He can’t even imagine how that must’ve hurt, sensitive as they are. <br/>When Sothe meets his eyes again, his face is a little less guarded. <br/>“Can you help him?”</p>
<p>The lynx finally makes noise. A small bitten-off growl. Vandril looks closer and sees that the creature’s leg has been messily wrapped with a strip of what he presumes to have been Sothe’s shirt.<br/>He’s no healer but any sin’dorei these days knows at least enough to survive. He recognises that in Sothe’s face. There’s no fire, but there’s a hunger for life.</p>
<p>He sneaks the two into his lodgings. There isn’t a lot of room still usable in the town but he’d managed to secure somewhere private for his belongings and a bed, at least. Sothe lays the lynx down on his bed without prompting. Vandril would have offered anyway, maybe, but the action still makes his lips quirk in amusement at the almost refreshing lack of propriety. The wild elf stands in the corner of the room awkwardly as Vandril unwraps the creature’s leg and conjures water to wash it gently. He’s surprised by it’s compliance. It seems to have the same placid temperament as it’s master.<br/>When he’s done he wraps the scraps of cloth back around it’s leg. Ideally he would’ve had cleaner bandages but resources are lacking these days.<br/>He turns to the shadow darkening his room.</p>
<p>“Let me look at you as well.” Silence, again. “Please.”</p>
<p>Something in his voice must have gotten through to Sothe. He sighs and moves toward the bed, sitting on the edge of it carefully, to not disturb the lynx.<br/>“Be quick.” He won’t meet Vandril’s eyes. </p>
<p>Vandril’s heart breaks when Sothe flinches away from the light touch on his arm. His ears, the scars, disuse of his voice, and distancing from civilisation all start to make sense. Not all the scars Arthas left on their kind are physical. <br/>“I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe here.”</p>
<p>“If you say so.” His voice is measured. Noone else would’ve been able to tell the difference in it from before, but now Vandril sees in him a scared child.</p>
<p>He keeps his touch minimal, only making contact where necessary. He sees mixed signals in Sothe’s reactions, half revulsion and half desire, as if he’s fighting with his need to melt into it. Vandril isn’t going to press the subject further, with words or otherwise, he’s a stranger to this elf and he won’t betray what little trust he’s been given.<br/>He finishes his work fast, cleaning the newer scars and keeping a wide berth from everything else. Like with the lynx, he wishes dearly he had spare rags to bind them with, but even if he did he suspects that Sothe would take issue with it. He steps back to signal that he’s done.<br/>The two leave without a word, Sothe inclining his head at Vandril before the pair disappear back into the woods. </p>
<p>The next day he emerges from his home and nearly trips over the three bat corpses that had been deposited in front of the door. Perhaps it is the other way around, and the master resembles the pet.</p>
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